


The Garden of Demeter

by Rarae



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Poetry, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-17 00:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5847283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rarae/pseuds/Rarae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am weary of seasons new<br/>Of snowy days and fresh dew,<br/>Fights and flights and babe’s debut,<br/>Of rich lives bought so cheap.</p><p>Based off the "Garden of Proserpine" by Algernon Charles Swinburne.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Garden of Demeter

**Author's Note:**

> You can read "The Garden of Proserpine" here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174555

Here, where the world is riot;  
Here, where all of peace seems  
To fade in fits disquiet  
In ephemeral fall dreams.  
I watch the tender blooms fast fade,  
Hiding in twilight shade  
And in ash their lives decayed  
In this sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of death and dust,  
And men that stay and sleep;  
Of the ending of joy, unjust,  
For men that rise to weep:  
I am weary of seasons new  
Of snowy days and fresh dew,  
Fights and flights and babes' debut,  
Of rich lives bought so cheap.

Here life has death for neighbor,  
And no fortress can defend  
Against dear death’s hard labor.  
Here, where the trees may bend  
In sweet summer songs of joy  
And sailing ships drop their buoy,  
No grief for babe, girl, or boy,  
Not so in where all descend.

No growth of more or coppice,  
No desert weed, forest vine,  
But bloomless buds and godless  
Pomegranate seeds and wine  
Below pale beds of briny briar,  
Where blooms die in Hell’s fire.  
Breathless save for hope higher  
Of sweet Demeter divine.

Strewn light fruitless fields of corn,  
Men without name or number  
Bend under the daughter’s scorn,  
Bowing until light’s ember  
Frees them from this sleepy night;  
So this, Hell and Heaven’s blight,  
Apollo’s diurnal flight,  
Brings and bans man’s slumber.

Though one bares the strength of twelve,  
Thy too Death shall beckon  
Not weep with woes in Hell  
Nor rise with praise in Heaven;  
Though thy were young as grain,  
The flowers’ beauty wan  
As nothing is left to be gain.  
To the end all are driven.

Yellow, youthful, beyond scorn,  
Crowned with crimson gains, she stands,  
Who gathers all blooms and corns  
With warm and wise mother’s hands;  
Her lush lips are sweeter  
To growers that greet her  
Than sweetest dreams of dreamers  
From all the trodden land.

She waits for bud and breath,  
She waits night’s ends, a new morn  
And grieves her daughter’s death  
With half a year to mourn  
Her life of bones and bare fields  
Of men with broken shields  
And her marriage forced and sealed.  
She grieves the short life shorn.

There go loves that wither,  
The old friends with fading wings.  
All dead winters draw hither  
In the land of all lost things,  
Dusty hopes and hopeless dreams,  
Leafy limbs in life’s stream,  
Scuttling creatures that teem,  
Golden rays and silver rings.

We are certain of sorrow  
And joy was never sure,  
Today will die tomorrow.  
Time stops for no mother’s lure.  
And love, faint and fickle,  
For past loves almost regretful,  
Sways with sleep forgetful,  
And weeps that only night endure.

From too little love of living,  
Would hope and fear ne’er rise,  
But we give much thanksgiving  
To whatever gods of skies  
That no life lives forever,  
For life less death would never  
Be precious but for to measure  
The light in one man’s eye.

Though sun nor star shall waken  
And all will be thrust in night  
And trees’ leaves must be shaken  
Let us enjoy today’s flight.  
Though the lush land vernal  
And earth of all diurnal  
Must one day sleep eternal,  
Do not leave gently this light.


End file.
